Thankfully, the guest to my right asks me a question about The Games, and my attention is effectively diverted from Fabiana. Before long, the meal is finished, and the guests are mingling in the adjoining reception room. I seize the opportunity for some solitary solace on the balcony.
I’ve got to do something to try to get my head straight.
The evening air is a welcome reprieve from the suffocating politeness of the state dinner, and of Lady Pemberton’s uncomfortably acute observations. The royal gardens stretch out below, fairy lights twinkling in the trees. It's my favorite time of day, that magical hour when the sun has set, leaving behind a soft glow on the horizon.
I’m leaning my elbows on the stone wall when I hear footsteps behind me. I straighten and turn to see Fabiana stepping into the moonlight.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she teases.
“Fancy that,” is all I can manage.
Why won’t my brain function normally around this woman?
She moves to stand beside me, and I catch that scent again—something floral with vanilla undertones that's becoming dangerously familiar.
"Why are you out here on the terrace on your own?" she asks.
"How do you know I'm not waiting for someone?" I reply, challenging her with my eyes.
She glances around the conspicuously empty terrace. "Because there's no one here. Perhaps you have been stood up?"
The teasing note in her voice surprises a laugh out of me—the first genuine laugh I've given all evening. "I just needed some fresh air after all the talk.”
“Did you grow tired of flirting with octogenarians?”
The mischief in her tone makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
“I was charming her, Fabiana. Not flirting. There's a difference.”
I don’t mention Lady Pemberton’s wry observations about her and me.
“If you say so.” She turns her attention to the gardens, and I find myself watching her profile in the moonlight instead of the view.
"Beautiful," she whispers, almost to herself.
"It is.”
"This is my favorite time of day, when it’s growing dark, but the last rays of light can be seen on the horizon,” she says, and it’s like she’s in my head, plucking out my thoughts. “It's?—"
“—Magical,” I finish for her, and when she looks at me, there's something unguarded in her expression that makes my breath hitch in my throat.
“Magical,” she repeats.
We hold one another’s gaze for a beat too long, until I pull mine away, looking out at the horizon once more. We stand in silence, and it’s surprisingly not as uncomfortable as I might once have expected.
“I should let you get some rest,” I say, breaking the silence. “We need to be up early to catch the train north tomorrow.”
“True,” she replies. “Good night, Max."
“Good night, Fabiana.” I step away, but I don’t leave. I should, but I don’t. Instead, I find myself lingering, watching as she wraps her arms around herself against the cool night air, and that now familiar protectiveness I felt earlier stirs in my chest.
I pull off my jacket and place it across her shoulders.
She snaps her attention to me, with a look of surprise on her face. “Thanks,” she murmurs.
“You looked cold.”
She nods, pulling my jacket closer around herself. It’s so much larger than her and she’s dwarfed by it.
